The Hive

by Orson Scott Card

  “You misunderstand me, Lem. I’m not here to threaten you. I don’t care about the snakes in your finance department. What I do care about are the members of the Fleet who cooperate with your finance department and who use threats and extortion to make your employees silently comply. That’s who I’m after, Lem, the bad guys in the International Fleet who are using their association with Juke Limited and other contractors to pocket all kinds of kickbacks. Admirals, commanders, undersecretaries. We don’t need those bad apples in the Fleet.”

  “The International Fleet has a Judge Advocate General’s Corps,” said Lem. “If you have incriminating evidence about a member of the Fleet, I suggest you take it to JAG and let them do their job. I thought they would have taught you that in spy school.”

  “If JAG were not corrupt to the core, I might do just that,” said Crowe. “But many of the judges are not the squeaky-clean white knights of justice we’d like to think they are. Your friend Mazer Rackham can attest to that.”

  “That breaks my heart to hear, Mr. Crowe,” said Lem. “You have my condolences. I fail to see what that has to do with me.”

  “The International Fleet is full of bad apples,” said Crowe. “Along the supply chains, commanding warships, sitting at big desks at CentCom. Officers who by their incompetence or their criminal activity endanger the good men and women under their command, and by so doing endanger us all. This is a war we can’t afford to lose, Lem. And I fear these bad apples will lead us to ruin. You’ve seen it yourself. Admirals who have no business commanding a squad of marines, much less a fleet of ships. These people need to be removed, Lem. And you’re the man to help me remove them.”

  “You’ll need to clarify, Mr. Crowe, because what you’re suggesting sounds a lot like treason.”

  “I need funding, Lem. Secret funding. Funding that I can’t account for on official government documents. Funding that a man of your enormous wealth and resources can provide.”

  Lem laughed. “This is a sales call? Mr. Crowe, I think you’ve been misinformed. I’m not in the habit of giving my wealth away to men plotting secret assassinations.”

  “Men can be removed a number of ways,” said Crowe. “What matters is that they’re removed.” He took a round disc the size of a hockey puck from his pocket and slid it across the surface of the table. It stopped near Lem, and a small holoprojection of an IF warship appeared in the air above it.

  “This is the IF Apache,” said Crowe. “An A-class fast combat support vessel. Captained by a Harrison Poindexter. An American. Captain Poindexter won his appointment because his father is an aluminum tycoon with friends in the Hegemony Congress. Daddy wanted little Harrison to captain a ship, and Daddy got what he wanted. Sadly, the crew of the Apache didn’t get what they wanted, which was a captain with any sense of command and an ounce of courage. At the first sign of trouble, Poindexter abandoned two other warships in desperate need of his weaponry and support, assistance that Poindexter could have easily provided. Six hundred and fourteen crewmembers on those two other ships lost their lives as a result. Poindexter later abandoned three platoons of his asteroid commandos because he thought a Formic warship was nearing the asteroid where they were positioned. The object on approach proved to be an IF recon satellite, not a Formic ship. But Poindexter didn’t hang around long enough to find that out. The twenty-seven commandos he left on that asteroid all died of asphyxiation once their oxygen ran out.”

  Crowe tapped at his wrist pad, and the holoprojection above the puck disappeared. “I’ll do the math for you, Lem. Six hundred and forty-one marines have lost their lives because of one idiotic, spineless, incompetent commander. Had someone like myself removed Poindexter from his post before the fact, all of those marines would still be alive. I can tell you twelve stories just like that one off the top of my head. Bad commanders who have needlessly lost lives. I have a list of other commanders who are equally ill-suited for their posts, and who will almost certainly lead their marines to ruin. That’s our dilemma, Lem. The International Fleet is rotting from the inside out, and the entire world will pay the consequences. I need someone who can help me prune away the bad fruit and ensure the most competent men and women are leading this war. Not the nephews of senators and business leaders. Not the backstabbing sycophants, who claw their way to command. But the real leaders, like your friend Mazer Rackham, who are sidelined by careerist imbeciles and kept as far from command as possible. I need someone brave enough and smart enough to help us see this through.”

  Lem steepled his fingers together and nodded. “I see. Okay. Let me make sure I understand you clearly here. You want me to give you, a man I’ve never before met, a large portion of my personal fortune to fund your top-secret hit squad with a kill list of IF commanders that you, for whatever reason, don’t deem worthy and up to snuff. And in return for my financing this treasonous endeavor, which would almost certainly lead to me being tried and executed, you graciously agree not to inform the press that I’ve got some bad apples in my accounting department? Am I catching the gist of your offer here, Mr. Crowe? Because gosh, I’ve got to tell you, as much as that sounds like a humdinger of a sweet deal, I’m going to have to give you a hard pass and say thanks but no thanks.”

  Oliver Crowe stood and buttoned his blazer. “You’ve had a difficult day, Lem. I don’t expect you to see clearly right now. I’m merely planting the seed in your mind. And in the meantime, I invite you to continue to watch the news about this war—and by that I mean the secret news, not what the Fleet press office is sugarcoating and broadcasting to the world. Not the propaganda. But the real events, the real defeats, the real injustices committed by dangerous people in power who are leading us to our extinction. When you hear those stories, Lem, you’ll remember this conversation and that you did nothing to keep that tragedy from happening.”

  “I’ll do my best to sleep at night,” said Lem.

  Crowe smiled. “Here’s the rest of my offer, Lem. I’m not looking solely for a donation. I’m also looking for an agent, someone I can trust here inside the company now that your Father is returning.”

  Lem almost laughed. “You want me to spy on my own father?”

  “Why not? Your father has been spying on you from the moment you took this job. His informants and saboteurs are all over this company.”

  “Saboteurs?” said Lem.

  “People who have frustrated your efforts because your father ordered them to do so. Maybe you didn’t win a contract you should have, or maybe production was delayed, or maybe HR problems leaked to the press. I’m not floating conspiracy theories here, Lem. I have evidence for every one of these claims. Your father may have resigned as CEO when he became Hegemon, but his control over this company never went away. He has people in every department, people who appear to report to you but who in truth report to him. The board choosing to oust you is all the evidence you need.”

  “Then you don’t want an alliance with me,” said Lem. “You want an alliance with the man who has the real power and resources to help you. My father.”

  Crowe shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. Your father is likely to continue the company’s relationship with bad actors inside the International Fleet if it benefits the company financially. I can’t trust him to be ethical in this matter.”

  “You think assassinations are more ethical?” said Lem.

  “As I said, Lem, there are many ways to remove dangerous people from power. They don’t all require a laser to the back of the head.”

  “But some of them might,” said Lem. “That’s what you’re telling me.”

  “Your father has already made plans with the future Hegemon that will secure this company’s dominance for decades to come. Ukko Jukes intends to build a new fleet and take the war to the Formics’ home planet. For that your father will need to be married completely with the Fleet, working with both the good and the bad apples to design, test, and build the tech required. This effort will require more money than the world has ever gathe
red, more even than the price of this current war. Money on that scale breeds the worst in men. Your father can’t help us clean up the International Fleet. He’ll be too busy corrupting it. Not directly, perhaps. He’s not foolish enough to openly engage bad actors. But he won’t have to. They’ll come to him.”

  “I thought you said you reported to my father. This is how you serve him, by enlisting his son to spy on him, by making back-alley deals to secure secret funding?”

  “I serve the free people of Earth, Lem. Not your father. I’m giving you an opportunity to do the same.”

  Oliver Crowe tapped his wrist pad, and the puck slid back across the table to him. He picked it up and tucked it in his pocket. “I’ll leave you with this, Lem. Four names. Colonel Dietrich, Captain Mangold, Captain Hoebeck, and Captain Wu. These names mean nothing to you. But each of them is a poor choice for his post. Each of them will likely lead the men and women under his command to their deaths. That fact also means nothing to you until I tell you who these men command. They’re people you do know. Good people. People who deserve to survive this war. Mazer Rackham, Imala Bootstamp, Victor Delgado, and Wilasanee Saowaluk.”

  Lem tensed at hearing Wila’s name.

  “Yes, Lem. I know where Wila is. She’s on a ship heading for the Belt. And her captain is an indignant fool and coward who will, in all likelihood, get Wila killed. When you hear of her death, and the death of these others, you’ll know you did nothing to save them. I hope you can live with that.”

  Crowe moved for the door.

  “Why is Wila going to the Belt?” said Lem.

  Crowe turned back.

  “She wouldn’t have joined the Fleet,” said Lem. “She doesn’t believe in war.”

  “She’s doing what she knows is necessary to save the human race,” said Crowe. “I expect no less from you.”

  “And what’s in it for me?” said Lem. “I give you an investment, and get nothing in return?”

  “You’re not investing,” said Crowe. “You’re donating. And once the donation is given, you don’t have a right to anything. It doesn’t buy you control, it doesn’t buy you information. What it does buy you is victory.”

  “You make treason sound so noble,” said Lem.

  “To abandon marines on an asteroid to save your own skin is treason, Lem. To be paralyzed with indecision when your fighter squadron is calling for additional support, that is treason. To send a junior officer with enormous potential to the front lines to die simply because you think him a threat to your position, that is treason. But don’t take my word for it.” He tapped his wrist pad, and Lem’s own wrist pad vibrated. “I just sent you a link to a private forum on the IF intranet, where junior officers have detailed countless examples throughout the Fleet of incompetent leadership. Your friend Mazer Rackham has written anonymously about this very subject. He’ll show you through his own observations what real treason looks like.”

  “I could turn you in to my father,” said Lem. “I could have you arrested.”

  Crowe smiled. “You could, yes. But you won’t. That’s the advantage of working in intelligence, Lem. I know everything about you. I know precisely what you’ll do when given an opportunity like this. I wouldn’t risk revealing myself to you if I didn’t. You’ll give me the money I need. Have a good evening. I’m glad to have you on our side.”

  Crowe turned and was gone.

  Lem tapped at his wrist pad and went to the IF forum. He tapped again and moved the content from his wrist pad to the projection wall. A popup included from Crowe directed Lem to several posts. Lem read them. He sat in the nearest chair and read others. He read posts from three anonymous officers, all of whom, according to Crowe’s popup, were handles used by Mazer Rackham. He read rebuttals from the senior officers accused of incompetency, which only validated the accusations against them. They were fools; arrogant, blundering fools.

  Lem read for hours. He had known that the IF had its share of careerists and toxic commanders, but he hadn’t realized how rampant their rule had become. Crowe had not exaggerated, if what Lem read represented the Fleet as a whole. The question was, what to do about it?

  To do nothing was the safest course. At least for the time being. Father had been right. Lem could retire. With a buyout of his shares, he could live like a king somewhere. Not on an island. What was the appeal of that? But somewhere busy where money could be spent. London, perhaps. Paris. Hong Kong. The cities could be his. That is, until the Formics came.

  And in that sense, doing nothing wasn’t a safe course at all.

  Lem checked his accounts. He could afford to liquidate some of his assets. And he had people he trusted who could move the funds through international accounts so as not to attract notice. It would be easy. And with that money he could do what needed to be done.

  He turned off his wrist pad and left the boardroom. He was no longer CEO, but his security ring on his finger still gave him access to his office. The letter of resignation he wrote to the board was short. It simply stated that his father, Ukko Jukes, had informed Lem of Ukko’s choice to resign as Hegemon. Upon learning of this decision, Lem was now asking that the board hold an emergency meeting to consider reinstating Father as CEO as soon as word of the Hegemon’s resignation was announced. Nothing thrilled Lem more than to have his father return to the company he had built.

  He pressed send.

  He stood. There was nothing in his office that had any real sentimental value. And even if there were, he would leave it. Better that than to endure the humiliation of walking out with a cardboard box filled with office trinkets.

  The staff that worked the late shift was waiting outside his office. Most of the women were crying. The men looked small and sheepish and embarrassed. There would be no transition period, no passing of the torch. Lem tapped his wrist pad and gave everyone in the room a generous bonus that quickly dried the tears.

  Yes, he thought. You can do anything with money.

  Then he put his hands in his pockets and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 15

  Khalid

  Transcript: Special State of the Union Address to Congress; Sharon Solomon, President of the United States, Hegemon-elect, 2119

  * * *

  SOLOMON: Over centuries, through the might of the United States Armed Forces and through the compassion of our global humanitarian efforts, we as Americans have shown our fellow citizens of the world that our commitment to peace is not limited to our borders, that the cries of the innocent and the oppressed do not fall upon deaf ears. America has always been a nation of doers, men and women who rise up in times of peril and who rush forward in times of conflict, eager to ease suffering, ensure democracy, and preserve freedom throughout the world.

  This resolve is what defines us as Americans. It is what built this nation.

  I am honored that the Hegemony Council has chosen me to serve as Hegemon. I feel humbled by the kind words and support of Ukko Jukes, who has led us through these dark days of fear and sorrow. As president of the United States, I have made and kept promises to our people. Now I make a solemn promise to all the free citizens of Earth, Luna, and throughout the solar system. I will bring to this new office the same steely resolve that defines me as an American, as well as a respect for all people of all nations, which defines me as a human being. [Applause] I give you my solemn vow, that I will do all in my power to preserve what is ours, to protect what we cherish, and to reclaim this solar system as our own. [Applause] We will not fall to the Formics. We will not yield. The human race will stand shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, and we will crush those who threaten to take our world. [Applause]

  * * *

  In an abandoned Minetek shipbuilding facility deep in the Kuiper Belt, Khalid, the man of all men, the father of fear, the founder of New Somalia, brooded over the ansible. The machine had gone quiet. For months it had given Khalid immediate updates on the war. Casualty numbers, ships lost, asteroids destroyed, rear admirals promoted—information t
hat had little relevance to Khalid, but which had made him feel important simply by having it. He had read its reports every day without fail, waiting for the IF to announce one of his conquests: a supply ship Khalid had destroyed, a shipyard he had attacked, an asteroid-mining crew he had killed. Surely the ansible would pass along such knowledge to all the other ships that were on this ansible’s shared network. Surely the Fleet would acknowledge Khalid’s power and presence. Surely. But the ansible had spoken of none of these things. The dogs of the Hegemony were too frightened to tell the truth of Khalid. They were too small to say his name, too weak to admit their defeat. And now, after all Khalid’s waiting, the ansible had stopped saying anything at all.

  “Perhaps the battery is dead,” said Ibrahim. The room they were in had once been a large break room, with vending machines and hologames and other minor entertainments. Now it was the private quarters of the ruler of New Somalia, filled with the tokens of Khalid’s victories.

  Khalid grunted and waved a dismissive hand. “What do you know? The ansible may not even have a battery. Perhaps it runs on a new kind of power.”

  Ibrahim shrugged and swiped through the screen on his tablet, a trinket he had taken off a dead Fleet navigational officer. “Perhaps. But what does it matter? Battery or not, you cannot fix it, brother. It is too complex of a machine for you.”

  “Do not presume to know the limits of my mind,” said Khalid.

  “You must explain what presume means,” said Ibrahim. “Or use simpler words, brother. We stupid folk can’t keep pace with you.”

  Khalid scowled. “Someday I will cut out that tongue of yours and feed it to you.”

  “That will be hard,” said Ibrahim. “Without my tongue, how could I move the severed tongue around in my mouth to eat it properly?”

  “Shut up and read your tablet,” said Khalid. He leaned in close to the ansible and tried to imagine where a small battery might be housed. Behind the paneling here, perhaps? He dared not try to pull the paneling back for fear of breaking the machine. There were no screws he could see that might allow him entry anyway. But even if there was a battery there and Khalid could remove it, did he have extra batteries here on the station? The company, Minetek, which had so graciously left this facility unattended, had clearly left in a hurry. When Khalid and his men first discovered it, they had found food in the pantries and all manner of supplies and goods in the storage bins. If there were batteries, they would be in the cargo area. Somewhere.